Ilsa Spoke
by Paper Pearls
Summary: A brief one-shot following Ilsa Hermann, the mayor's wife, in the aftermath of the Himmel Street bombing.


**OoOoO**

It had been a long time since the mayor's wife had spoken. Certainly, she had used her voice. I listened to her howl when her son was buried. On occasions, I heard her mutter, whisper, and even sob when overtaken by grief, a broken mother without a child, but she had not spoken as Ilsa for many years.

Her voice had wavered when she had spoken to the book thief. A trace of the young woman from the typing pool who had worn bright yellow dresses, possessed a dry wit, and caught the eye of a politician's son had slunk across the letter that had accompanied the book thief's dictionary. She had begun to resurface when the book thief had responded with a touching note written on borrowed paper. She had emerged when she had learned that a girl who had, for intervals, pulled Isla from the depths of her despair, was liable to sink into her own misery.

"Heinz?" The mayor turned around, the ice in his whisky clinking against the glass. It was dark. I could see the twin bruises of failure and sleep deprivation blossoming underneath his eyes.

"Yes, my dear?" He took a deep drink. I was all around him, sweeping through the streets of what had become his identity.

"Himmel Street is gone now."

He sighed patiently, a common enough sound in their home. For all of his faults, the mayor was consistently affectionate towards the ghost of the woman he had married.

"Yes, it is." He looked at Isla for a second time, eyes widening slightly. The mayor and his wife were not to know of the silver eyes that rusted, or of what they meant to the book thief, but Ilsa Hermann was confident that his eyes would be kind enough for what she had in mind. Heinz Hermann was surprised because his wife was not dressed in the swastika-stitched dressing gown and slippers that she had reluctantly unwrapped.

She was wearing a fur coat that he had forgotten about. It had been a gift following Johann's death in an effort to tempt her outside. And a pair of black leather shoes that, on their last outing, had casually strolled along what was once Himmel Street.

"There is something that we must do." Ilsa's voice was firm and clear as she spoke. Her eyes were fixed upon the window ledge.

***~* The Key Word *~***

**Must: 1. be obliged to; should**

**2. Expressing insistence**

She did not give her husband a choice. Ilsa Hermann did not respond to the mayor's confused "What makes you think we can take care of her?" as she left their house. His words did not penetrate the armour of her coat. It was this that convinced him to follow her, to walk underneath the dark sky towards the red stain that could have been mistaken for the beginnings of sunrise. Out of the corner of his eye, Heinz watched Ilsa's hair flutter in the breeze.

He had expected to lead the discussion with the authorities, to use his influence to have them hand over the girl quickly. He hadn't. Isla had stepped forward boldly, not faltering when the exhausted boy behind the desk explained that he had no record of any Liesel Meminger being in their custody. Finally, it was discerned that the girl with the accordion and the book thief were one and the same.

The mayor's wife followed the man into a small office. Ilsa tried not to wince as she saw what I had done to her friend, the book thief. I had made her dusty, small and tearful. She was folded around the awkward shape of the case, the limbs that climbed through windows, ran from foes both real and imagined, were immobile.

"Liesel." Ilsa extended her gloved hand slowly. She had not spoken with such gentle warmth since Johann had been a child. "Come with me."

It took longer to convince the book thief to get into the mayor's car than it had done to coax her into Himmel Street. She did not embrace her saviour, instead clinging to the accordion case sitting beside her as though it was her dead papa. In a way, the accordion was Hans Hubermann. Certainly, more of his kindness remained in it than the shell that I had emptied.

Ilsa Hermann knew nothing of Rosa and Hans. She doubted that she or her husband were capable of replacing them in Liesel's eyes even without knowing that they had hidden a Jew and loved the book thief. She knew that Liesel would never replace Johann. She rested a hand on top of the fingers that had filched from her home and wished fervently for something new.

Another chance for her heart.

Another chance for her country.

Ilsa Hermann could not have said which would have been the greater miracle. I can only tell you that both were achieved. You will now possess an understanding of how. Humans have an aptitude for picking up on such things, as they do for survival.

**OoOoO**

**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


End file.
